


Shieldbrothers

by Soledad



Series: Sons of Gondor [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having lost against Boromir in the final round of the tournament in Lossarnach, young Lord Herumor, the Heir of Halabor, finds an unexpected way to pay ransom for his arms and his horse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shieldbrothers

**Author's Note:**

> The main story was written for the Edhellond Group as a Christmas gift for 2006. The esquires’ speech pattern is based on a similar formula in Sir Walter Scott’s “Ivanhoe”. This vignette is a side product to my story “The Young Knight”, set between chapters 17 and 18.

When Boromir reached his pavilion, victorious and proud, albeit sore from the hard encounters during the joust, Faramir, who served as his esquire with the permission of their royal grandfather, relieved him from his armour and placed food and wine before him. Donning a long robe usually worn by Gondorian noblemen at home, Boromir dug into his food with ravenous appetite – understandable, after the exertions of the day.

He had scarcely finished his meal when Faramir stuck his head through the entrance of the pavilion again.

“Brother,” he said, “five esquires desire to speak with you. Each of them is leading a barbed steed.”

“Wanting to ransom the armours and war-horses of their masters, no doubt,” Boromir rose from his table. “I shall speak with them.”

He stepped forth to the front of his pavilion, where he found in attendance the esquires of all the champions he had defeated, easily recognisable by the colours and coats-of-arms of their lords; each of them led his master’s _destrier_ , loaded with the armour in which the defeated knight had fought that day.

“My Lord Boromir,” said the foremost of those young men, with the silver dragon of Erellont’s House embroidered upon the breast of his black surcoat, “according to the rules of the tournament, I, Duartane, esquire to the new knight of Erellont’s House, Herumor son of Orchaldor, make offer to you of the horse and armour used by the said Herumor in this day’s passage of arms, leaving it with your nobleness to retain or ransom the same, according to your pleasure; for such is the law of arms.”

The esquires of the good knights Peredur, Idanach, Benniget of Lossarnach and Narion of Lebennin, repeated nearly the same words (which were the customary ones spoken on such occasions) and then stood to await Boromir’s decision.

“To you four, sirs,” replied the Steward’s son, addressing those who have last spoken, “and to your honourable and valiant masters, I have one common reply. I should do ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which can – and no doubt shall – be used best in the defence of Gondor against the dark forces. I could end here my message to those noble knights; yet said defence is bound to ever-rising costs, as you know all too well. Therefore, I shall be grateful if your masters would, of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom their steeds and armour for that purpose.”

“We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the esquire of Benniget of Lossarnach, “to offer twenty gold pieces in ransom of these suits of armour; and another ten gold pieces in ransom of the horses, each.”

“’Tis sufficient,” Boromir nodded. “Half the sum the present necessities of the garrison of Osgiliath compel me to accept on their behalf. As of the remaining half, I ask your masters that it should be used for the fortifications of their own hometown and for the needs of the good men who defend them.”

The esquires made deep obediences and acted as they had been told. When they were gone, Boromir turned to Herumor’s esquire.

“From your master,” he said, “I shall accept neither arms nor ransom, for it would be wrong to deprive a young knight of his hereditary armour, and no payment of coin should be taking place between the Houses of Mardil and Erellont, both of which have sailed with the Elendili from Númenor. Tell him I asked that he would visit me here tomorrow, ere he turns in and we shall discuss the matter in person, as it is proper.”

The esquire made a deep obeisance and retreated, following his companions. Boromir re-entered his pavilion, thoughtful of the possible risks he was planning to take with young Herumor.

“Faramir,” he said to his brother, “’tis a matter of some delicacy, and I shall count on you in this. When Herumor pays me yonder visit tomorrow, you must see that no-one can get within earshot during his stay – not even your own self.”

Faramir gave him a hurt look. “You never had secrets from me before.”

“’Tis not a secret,” replied Boromir, “just very… private. I might tell you about it eventually; when the time is right. For some matters, you are still too young… though you shall not always be.”

That comforted Faramir, knowing that his brother would never make promises he had no intention to keep. Thus the youngling promised to guard his brother’s tent on the next even, and they both turned in to rest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the next day, shortly before sunset, Herumor came to Boromir’s pavilion as asked, wearing the colours and the emblem of his House rather than his old Dol Amroth uniform, signalling that he was a grown man now, the Heir of his father. Boromir offered him wine, which he politely refused, saying that he wished all his wits about him when discussing matters of honour with his future liege lord.

“For you had me defeated, fair and clear,” he said, “and yet you refused to accept either my horse and arms or my ransom. Therefore I must assume that you have something else in mind for me, though what that would be, I cannot imagine. I would be greatly relieved if you spoke your mind bluntly.”

“Very well,” Boromir nodded. “I shall be blunt with you then, though doing so will be taking a risk on my side; a risk greater than just giving you a reason to repulse me.”

“ _Repulse_ you, my Lord?” asked Herumor in surprise. “Why should I ever feel such way for you?”

“Because you were right,” Boromir sighed. “I do desire something from you, but it is not your horse or your arms, nor is it your coin, which your House does not have in abundance in any case.” He hesitated for a moment before admitting. “Nay, Herumor, that which I desire is your person.”

Herumor might be young and sheltered all his life, but he was no fool. While in Dol Amroth, he _had_ heard rumours of Southron nobles who preferred to share their bed with young men (or even boys), and he had also heard muted whispers about Master Andrahar’s supposed preferences, although no-one had ever been able to provide any hard proof for _that_. He had not expected, however, such an approach to come from a young Gondorian knight of his own age – and from his future liege lord, at that.

“You ask me to whore myself to you as a ransom for my horse and my arms?” he asked in quiet outrage, his face pale with wrath.

“Nay,” replied Boromir. “I ask you to share pleasure with me the way shieldbrothers do sometimes. I have told your esquire that I accept neither arm, nor ransom for you. That will not change, whether you decide to fulfil my desire or not.”

Herumor shook his head in honest confusion.

“Then I cannot see what the true reason for this meeting is,” he said. “I know there are men who seek pleasure with other men, rather than cleaving unto women, but I am not one of those.”

“Are you sure?” Boromir stepped uncomfortably close to him, took his face in big hands and kissed him on the mouth; not in the manner how a brother would kiss a brother but in the manner one would kiss a lover. Herumor went rigid with shock when one of Boromir’s large hands slid down the front of his body, reached between his legs, and grabbed him roughly through the fine woollen fabric of his breeches.

“If you are not one of those men,” murmured Boromir, fondling his rapidly filling manhood through his clothes, “then why are you getting harder than steel under my touch?”

Torn between mortal embarrassment and shameful pleasure, all Herumor could do was to arch into that confident touch and groan in despair. When Boromir finally let go of him, painfully hard and almost in tears with shame and unfulfilled desire, he needed all his strength not to scream.

“There are men,” said Boromir with infuriating calmness, “who can find pleasure with both men and women, and you seem to be one of those. Such men can have a wife and a family and be wedded and bedded happily, while still bond themselves to a shieldbrother, not by oath alone but also by body. I am not asking you for such a bond – not yet in any case, for you are still very young, we both are, and you need to find your way yet. All I ask is that you share yourself with me, for one night only.”

“And what if I refuse?” asked Herumor warily. Boromir shrugged.

“Then we shall forget that this discussion has ever taken place. I shall certainly not force myself upon you – although I do believe that you would take great pleasure from such encounter.”

With those words, he gave Herumor’s still uncomfortably tight breeches a meaningful look. Herumor blushed profusely. It would have been useless to deny that Boromir’s touch had excited him greatly… and that from the battle between shocked repulsion and pleasure the latter had come out victoriously.

“Do you know what men do when taking pleasure from each other?” asked Boromir quietly. Herumor nodded.

“I doubt there is any esquire in Dol Amroth who had _not_ sought out _The Fragrant Garden_ in the library at least once,” he said. “The pictures are rather… informative. It looks painful, though.”

“It can be, if the one who is doing the taking is impatient, uncaring or clumsy,” Boromir admitted. “I assure you I am none of those things. You have nothing to fear, even though the first time can be a bit… uncomfortable, I am told.”

“You…” Herumor hesitated. “Have you ever done this before?”

Boromir nodded. “Not often, though. Sometimes a very young soldier is so frightened before battle that he seeks out comfort by someone in whose strength he trusts. Or they are so highly strung after a vicious fight that they need to wear all that heat off somehow. I have never done it with one I truly desired, though.”

Herumor shook his head again, still very confused.

“I cannot even guess what you see in me,” he said. “Do I look like a girl to you? Is that why you wish to treat me like you would treat a woman?”

“Oh, nay, ‘tis not what I wish,” Boromir laughed. “I do not want you because you look like a girl; for you do _not_. I desire you for your comeliness, aye, but also for your bravery and strength. And I shall not treat you like a woman, but as a shieldbrother, who is my equal in everything but station, and _that_ counts night to nothing when we share pleasure.”

“If it counts so little,” said Herumor boldly, “then why should be you the one doing the taking and not the other way round?”

“I cannot help it,” replied Boromir simply. “’Tis my nature.”

That was very true again, of course, and Herumor understood all too well that – should he take on Boromir’s offer – he would have to be the submissive one. The thought of yielding to Boromir’s strength frightened and excited him at the same time… yet he could not come to a decision right away.

“I… I have to think about this,” he said. Boromir nodded.

“You need to be able to ride in the mêlée the day after tomorrow,” he said. “So if we are doing this at all, we should do it the day after the mêlée, as thus you will have a few days to recover ere you leave for home. If you do not come to me that night, I shall know your answer, and we shall forget about the whole thing.” He leaned in and gave Herumor a long, lingering kiss. “I do hope, though, that you will come to me in the end.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And indeedly, two days later, right after sunset, Herumor came to Boromir’s tent, very much in the manner of a lamb coming to its slaughterer. He was deathly pale with anxiety but clearly dressed to impress, wearing an open-necked shirt under his jerkin, a shirt of such fineness that it threatened to become transparent in the right light. For a moment, Boromir wondered if he had borrowed it from one of his cousins, for it was way too fine for a man’s undergarment… and perchance way too expansive for someone of his modest wealth.

In any case, he looked delectable in it, and Boromir appreciated the effort.

“So you have come, after all,” said the Steward’s son. He had _not_ been certain that it would happen. Herumor’s changeable eyes flashed darkly with anger. Not so much of a lamb, after all. Good.

“Smugness does not suit you, my Lord,” he riposted.

Boromir rolled his eyes. “Do you not think that such formality is a little mismatched with what we are about to do?” he said.

Herumor shrugged. “How should I know? I have never lain with a man before, and I seriously doubt that I would again.”

“Why have you come then in the first place?” asked Boromir, a little annoyed.

Herumor shrugged again. “You told me two days ago that I might be one of those men who find pleasure with both men and women. I would like to find out if you were right or not. I hope by the Old Gods that you were wrong, but just in case you were not… I need to know who I am… _what_ I am.”

Boromir nodded, impressed. It took a great deal of courage and strength to face something in one’s self that would _not_ be appreciated by one’s elders and comrades… mayhap not even by the person himself.

“’Tis not as rare as you would think,” he said, “although rare enough so that others would frown upon it.”

“Is that why you always kept it secret?” asked Herumor. “Are _you_ one of those men? Or do you only cleave unto men?”

‘Twas a delicate question, but if anyone, Herumor certainly had the right to ask. He was just about to try something that his father would probably find utterly repulsive, so he needed some support to go on with it.

“I am not entirely sure,” admitted Boromir honestly. “I have come to believe that I might be more a lover of men than a lover of women, although I can find pleasure with women as well. In the end, the only thing that matters is that I will have to wed a suitable noblewoman one day, to sire Heirs for the stewardship – and as I am not entirely adverse to lie with women, my lady would have no reason to complain. My life is not my own – I have been espoused to Gondor on the day of my birth, and I shall always fulfil my duty to her. Whatever I do with the rest of my life is my own business, as long as I remain discreet.”

Herumor gave him a thoughtful look. “I… I would like to find a suitable wife one day,” he muttered. “Mayhap even someone I can love beyond duty.”

“And if you are fortunate, you might,” replied Boromir. “My parents loved each other dearly; theirs was a bond of love before all else. And I have little doubt that if cousin Húrin finally makes up his mind, he could have a long and happy life with Lady Achren. ‘Tis I who always has been a little… different.”

“So am I, it seems,” muttered Herumor gloomily.

“’Tis by no way certain,” said Boromir. “Two days ago, I did my best to wake your interest – when touched as I have touched you, many young men would have become excited. But we can find out whether it was more than just the heat of the moment… if you are willing.”

After a moment of wavering, Herumor gave a simple nod. “That is what I am here for,” he said. “I need to see this through, or else I would never be free from the nagging doubt.”

“I shall do my best to help you, then,” said Boromir, and leaned in to kiss him.

This time, the soft lips opened under his mouth, allowing him entrance, although the younger man was trembling badly – with fright or with want, ‘twas hard to tell. Boromir cradled Herumor’s head in one large hand, while sliding the other one under that fine shirt, roaming the smooth chest with his rough fingers. The sleek smoothness of a boy and the steely strength of a man grown was combined in that slender body shivering under his touch, and he felt his knees weakening with desire.

He broke off the kiss for the need of air, catching the full lower lip of the young man with his teeth and tugging at it gently. Herumor’s face was flushed now, his mouth just a little swollen from their kiss, slightly parted, wet and oh so inviting. But Boromir had already another goal in mind. Opening the silk shirt with both hands, he rubbed his rough cheek against Herumor’s nipples, smiling as the rasp of his beard made them harden to erect little peaks. Herumor gave a muffled sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan, and arched his back, as if seeking more contact.

So far, he was definitely enjoying what they were doing.

“Let me see more of you,” murmured Boromir, pushing the shirt off his broad shoulders, careful not to tear it, and threw it over a stool. Then he ran his hands over Herumor’s chest again, revealing in the strength that lay under all that deceiving smoothness and softness.

“I always wondered what it would be like to lie with an Elf,” he murmured. “Now I am getting an idea, I think; you have both beauty and strength, and so have they, I am told.”

Herumor laughed weakly. “You flatter me. But if we are doing to share, ‘twould only be just that I get to see my full, too.”

“Oh, I surely hope you will do more than just see,” Boromir grinned, shedding his surcoat and shirt with the speed and accuracy of a field soldier. He also seemed to have the same complete lack of self-consciousness as the lowliest foot soldier, as he revealed his strong upper body, somewhat paler than his arms and his face, cross-crossed with a few thin scars. One could see that he had been with the fighting troops for years – and that he had not been hiding behind them.

Herumor reached out tentatively but held back ere touching. “May I…?”

At Boromir’s encouraging nod, he began tracing the scars, first shyly, just with his fingertips, and then, emboldened, with his lips and tongue. Now it was Boromir’s turn to shiver and arch into the sensuous caresses, and Herumor began to enjoy himself thoroughly, having reduced the mightiest son of Gondor to a trembling heap of want. Besides, to his surprise, he found that Boromir had a pleasant, clean smell; that of leather and clean sweat and some spicy soap he must have used recently, but beyond that something elusive that belonged uniquely to him.

Herumor wondered how he might smell – and _taste_ – to Boromir, who was now gently gnawing on the side of his neck.

“Wait,” Boromir caught a slender hand that was already trailing downward to his groin. “Let us retreat to the sleeping area; we shall be more comfortable in my bed.”

That bold statement startled Herumor a little but he followed the Steward’s son to the sleeping area of the tent, which was separated by a heavy curtain and contained nothing but a washstand and a narrow field bed. The challengers were supposed to sleep in their pavilions during the tournament, and Boromir, used to living in a tent among the ruins of Osgiliath, followed that somewhat outdated rule without protest.

As soon as the curtain was pulled together behind them, he tossed Herumor onto the bed playfully, saying, “’Tis time that I unpacked my gift,” and with that, he opened the front of Herumor’s breeches and reached inside with a confident hand.

Once again, Herumor went rigid from the foreign touch upon his member, and very nearly bolted when Boromir’s rough palm curled around his sack, with a long finger pressing further behind, towards the most intimate opening of his body.

Boromir felt him tightening up with anxiety and withdrew slowly, distracting him with another long, deep-tongued kiss.

“Fear not,” he said, “I know what I am doing, and I do not intend to hurt you. There is no need for you to behave like a virgin bride.”

Despite his anxiety, Herumor could not help but laugh weakly again.

“Well, in a sense, I _am_ ,” he replied. “You forget that all this is new… and disturbing for me.”

“ _All_ of this?” asked Boromir. “You _have_ been with women before, have you not?”

“I may not be related to the Princes of Dol Amroth,” answered Herumor with a shrug, “but as the only son of their oldest ally, I was treated like kin. So aye, I did get the _Fairweather_ key (1) like the sons of the royal family.”

“I guessed so much,” said Boromir. “But have you used it as well?”

Herumor shrugged. “Once or twice. I _was_ curious… and I admit that learning how one has to pleasure a woman was… useful.”

“But?” asked Boromir, for there most definitely was a _but_ , if Herumor’s tone was any indication.

Herumor shrugged again. “I… I prefer to wait for someone who actually _means_ something to me,” he admitted, a little sheepishly.

“I see,” said Boromir thoughtfully. “If you have changed your mind about… about _this,_ we can end it right here. I do not wish to make you do something that is against your disposition.”

Herumor shook his head. “Nay,” he said earnestly. “I might not _want_ to do this, not truly, but I _need_ to see clear about myself. Just… just go slowly, shall you? ‘Tis not exactly easy for me.”

“As slowly as you need,” promised Boromir. “There will be pleasure, I swear. Even if your mind might refuse to admit, your body will like it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And when everything was said and done, Herumor had to admit that his body _had_ liked it, after all. Boromir had kept his promise and gone slowly, teaching him about pleasures he had not known to exist before, and in the end, Herumor had to admit that their encounter had been pleasurable indeed. Nonetheless, he felt that it was not his way in the long run, and he said so honestly ere they parted.

“I think not that I would ever do this again with anyone else,” he said openly. “Pleasurable as it might have been at some points, I could never allow another man to have me in such vulnerable position.”

“It requires a great deal of trust,” Boromir agreed, “and I feel honoured that you trusted me enough to allow it. ‘Tis a shame that all we can ever have was this one night, but I am grateful nonetheless.”

Herumor smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Ask me in a few years again,” he replied, “and we shall see.”

They laughed and parted, with the vague promise of _maybe_ for later. In the following years, they kept sporadic contact through letters and messages but never got another chance to meet in person, as Boromir had gradually grown into his future responsibility, first as the Captain of the White Tower and then as the Captain-General of Gondor and barely left the battlefield, spending the rest of his life more or less in that tent among the ruins of Osgiliath, with a few short visits back in Minas Tirith.

Herumor returned to Halabor with his father, and spent the next thirteen years with learning how to be a good ruler of their town and lands and with defending the same from raiding bands of Easterlings, Dunlendings, Hill-men and the odd band of Orcs that dared to cross the Great River on ferries, despite the closeness of Cair Andros’ garrison. He did find a woman, whom he cared for, and he had to leave her to get engaged with a young lady of his own status, and he did so for the good of Halabor without protesting.

They never saw each other again. Herumor was duty-bound to his town as well as Boromir was bound to Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, and when Boromir finally got to see Halabor, following a desperate call for help from the besieged garrison of Cair Andros, the town was nothing more than charred ruins, utterly destroyed by an unexpectedly numerous army of Orcs, and Herumor had been dead for months already, slain by a band of Hill-men when he tried to defend one of the isolated little farmstead with a handful of his fathers men-at-arms.

Ten years later, Boromir went on a quest, following a strange dream and never returned from it. They say, his body was given to the Great River that carried him down to the Sea, across which both his and Herumor’s ancestors had come to Gondor. Of Herumor’s resting place there is no word, and where the ancient town of Halabor once stood, only blackened stone has remained after a Ring War, and a sad memento of the people who had lived and worked there for centuries.

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> (1) The Fairweather is a pleasure house in Dol Amroth, established in Isabeau’s stories as a place favoured by the sons of the Prince’s family. The Fragrant Garden is an actually existing book of lovemaking – the Arabic version of the Kama Sutra.


End file.
